


Let's Stop the Clock

by RockSaltAndRoll



Series: Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltAndRoll/pseuds/RockSaltAndRoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-serum, pre-war.</p><p>Steve's mother has just died. His best friend doesn't want to leave him by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Stop the Clock

It had been a couple of days since his mother’s funeral and Steve hadn’t seen a soul. Not that people hadn’t tried, and by people, he meant Bucky. Steve’s best friend throughout their whole lives had tried to get Steve to come and stay with him at his parents’ place but Steve had really just wanted to be alone.

It had been a mistake. The apartment felt empty without her. He kept going to make coffee or butter a slice of bread and lifted his head to call and ask if she wanted anything, but had always stopped short and, knowing that he would no longer hear her reply, often broke down into complete misery.

Being alone was driving him crazy and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Grabbing his jacket, he flung open the door only to collide with Bucky who had just been about to knock.

“Hey…” Bucky said in surprise as Steve immediately wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist, sucking in lungfuls of air that quickly caused him to have an asthma attack. Bucky swiftly took control, helping Steve inside and finding a paper bag for him to breathe into. “Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky told him, rubbing Steve’s back in slow soothing circles until the tightness in his chest subsided and his breathing was even again. Steve lowered the paper bag.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Any time, kid,” Bucky grinned. “I thought you might be sick of your own company by now, so I brought a friend…”

Reaching inside his jacket, Bucky pulled out a quarter bottle of bourbon. Steve chuckled.

“I think that may be just what I need right now,” he admitted.

An hour later and the bourbon had worked its magic. Everything was warm and hazy as they sat on the sofa, jackets discarded, ties hanging loose and shirts unbuttoned to halfway. George Melachrino’s ‘Let’s Stop the Clock’ was playing softly in the background and they were laughing heartily to a story that Bucky was recounting.

“…and your mom yelled ‘if I ever catch you giving him beer again, I will beat you into next week!”

Steve was doubled over, laughing.

“Oh my god, I’ve never been so terrified of a slipper in my whole life!”

“I felt terrible!” Bucky protested. “I wish she’d used the damn slipper on me! It was my fault, not yours!”

The laughter continued for a few minutes and then gradually subsided. Steve bit his lip.

“I miss her,” he murmured.

“I know,” Bucky replied.

They looked at each other for a long moment. Steve had always loved the way Bucky looked when he was drunk. He was normally so pristine, clothes always smart and perfectly creased, not a hair out of place. But now he was a mess, his hair sticking out and angles from where he had continually run his hands through it and lips red from where he kept biting them absently.

“I miss you…” Steve murmured. Bucky bit on his lower lip again and set down the empty bottle.

“Do you want to put the couch cushions on the floor?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I really do,” Steve replied before leaning over to grasp the front of Bucky’s shirt and pull him in.

The first time they did anything like this, they were thirteen. Steve had refused to give up his seat in a diner to two very large seventeen year old boys and they had bodily hauled him out and began to beat him. Bucky had tackled the larger of the two, taking him down with a well aimed blow to the stomach. They were both outmatched though, and after a short-lived tussle they had helped each other home, bruised and battered, Bucky the worse off for shielding Steve with his body. Bucky’s mother had yelled at them, and then given them both a hug and supplied cookies and milk while she cleaned up their cuts with iodine. Later that night, they put the couch cushions down on the floor in Bucky’s room and huddled together under the blankets with torches and the latest comic book. Bucky had grinned at something and a cut on his lip had opened and started to bleed. He had winced.

“Aww…should I kiss it better?” Steve had joked.

“Yeah,” Bucky had laughed. “You should.”

Steve had kissed it better. Once, very gently. And then again, and then again, each kiss soft but lasting longer than the last. He’d expected Bucky to push him away eventually. Not roughly, but firmly enough to say that the joke was over. But Bucky never did push him away. Instead, his hands had found Steve’s bony hips and pulled him close.

They were small, skinny boys, anxiously fumbling under the blankets, having never touched anybody but themselves before. It was fast and it was messy and left them both panting and giggling nervously in the dark.

It had become less frequent by the time they had turned sixteen. Steve was still small and sickly whereas Bucky had grown up, all long legs and broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back with Brylcreem. Girls had suddenly discovered him and Bucky spent most of his Friday and Saturday nights on dates and trying to get Steve to come along too. Girls didn’t like him as much as they liked Bucky though.

As they got older, it only tended to happen when Steve got beat up or when they had drank too much while sitting on the porch, watching the world go by.

Bucky always touched Steve as though he was made of glass and this time was no different. Steve wished that just once that Bucky would hold him so tight that it left bruises on his delicate skin. Instead, it was Steve that always caused the bruises.

His teeth sank into Bucky’s lower lip as his hand found their way under the open shirt and onto Bucky’s skin. He delighted in the slight hiss of pain that was emitted and let go, letting his mouth trace the curve of the strong jaw and down the side of his neck instead. Bucky’s hands rested delicately on Steve’s neck, thumb gently stroking up to his chin and back down, always soft, always delicate.

The cushions didn’t even make it off the couch as they both fell back onto the hard wood floor, desperately clawing at each other’s garments to touch what was beneath. Wet mouths left trails on skin and Steve wrapped his leg over Bucky’s hip, pulling him close, fingers digging into the firm gluteals hard enough to leave marks. Bucky’s hands carded through Steve’s hair and down over his shoulders before finally coming to rest at the small of his back.

The walls in these apartments were thin and they knew it. They tried to muffle their noises as best they could, smothering them in kisses and burying them into shoulders, grinding against each other until the friction became too much to bear and they needed release.

Bucky always made the most noise when he came, unable to muffle the cry no matter what he did. It sent Steve over the edge every time and they both lay entwined and panting on the hard floor until their sweat cooled and they began to shiver.

“Do you think we’ll ever stop doing this?” Steve asked breathlessly as he pulled the blanket that usually covered the couch down over them.

“God, I hope not,” Bucky murmured lazily into his shoulder.

Steve smiled.

“Me neither.”


End file.
